The observatory documentary by Jessleen Loy is a quiet,
meditative piece on the process of growing old and the resilience of living
alone in one's twilight years. Chock full of pregnant pauses and poignant dead
time, the camera follows 75-year old Leong Kam Choon as he goes about his daily
living in a humble one-room flat.

It's uncertain, watching the film, if Loy knows the old uncle
personally, or if she approached him as a stranger, intrigued by his life. In
any case, it's evident that the elderly Mr. Leong is an interesting and
endearing character, and this shows in his many musings on living life simply
and taking things as they come, and in the coda where he ingenuously fashions a
useful apparatus out of a simple plastic container. It's a beautiful, moving
film about what it means to get by; a dark horse that unfolds gently and leaves
its thematic whispers heavy in a trail of emptiness.

Watching The Kings, and Walk Slowly makes
one ponder on the issues of ethical filmmaking: where do documentary filmmakers
draw the line between championing a character and creating--intentionally or
not--opportunistic, or at worse, exploitative portraits? As we see the vulnerabilities
of the characters onscreen, do they know that we sometimes laugh at and not
with them? Is the telling of their stories, or even the strange, unsolicited
sympathies that are forcefully evoked from the audience, worth the baring of a
pound of soul?

For the graduating class of LASALLE, the answer seems to be a
resounding "yes." But the filmmaker's privileged access to the
private lives of others is accompanied with a heavy responsibility, and one can
never be too careful when treading on another's dreams.